


Dance Another Day

by LostButterflyUtau



Category: Elena of Avalor (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Childhood Memories, Dancing Lessons, Family Fluff, Gen, Pre-Canon, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:27:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24616804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostButterflyUtau/pseuds/LostButterflyUtau
Summary: "For a moment, remember when."Though she never knew her mother, it was because of her, because of the memories, that Carla never stopped dancing.
Relationships: Carla Delgado & Victor Delgado
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	Dance Another Day

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by my headcanon and the song "Dance Another Day" from the old Mew Mew Power dub. I'm very much aware that "Word of God" says that Carla's mother is in fact, alive. So, this is an AU where her mother passed away the day she was born.
> 
> (Artwork by: missnobodynobodius (Used with Permission.))

_I remember when…_

_Your smile was just enough_

_Things were simpler then_

_You were not so tough_

_I miss the times when you would say,_

_Come on and dance another day._

* * *

Children had _never_ been part of the plan. Couldn’t be. Not with the life they lived, traveling from place to place, always having to figure out how they’d make their way in every town they passed through. It was hard enough with two adults. A child would only be an obstacle. Yet, despite all the planning and precaution, she arrived on a chilly November evening, bearing a gorgeous set of gorgeous violet eyes that both melted and broke his heart. They weren’t any set of eyes, they were _hers_.

He would never forget how excited Valeria had been. Despite the situation, she remained in good spirits, eagerly picking and snatching up small items – blankets, clothing, and small toys -- here and there in their travels and talking circles around him about what their son would be like. She was so sure it was a boy and would believe nothing else, not after the amount of fierce kicking she endured in those last few months. Once her mind was set, there was nothing he could do to change it, so Victor indulged her. Needless to say, he was nothing short of surprised when the midwife revealed that the baby was actually a _girl_ before gently handing over the bundle, giving the smallest of smiles as she watched the expression on his face move from disbelief as he looked at the little baby in his arms, to pure adoration when his daughter opened her eyes and shifted those tiny irises towards him.

The woman then lingered awkwardly, panic shooting through when he turned to look up at her. It took everything in her not to simply burst into tears. Sure, she’d done this before. But it _never_ got any easier. She watched as he opened his mouth to speak, to ask the question that they all did when they had to bring the baby out instead of inviting the father in. She took in a deep breath, interrupted him by kneeling down and setting a gentle hand on his knee before glancing back up to meet his gaze. He observed her carefully, eyes widening when he caught the distress expression on her face right before she said the words that echoed in his mind for years.

At first, he felt… _Nothing_. Just a dull numbness making its way through his veins as he processed the words, part of him hoping – praying – that he’d heard wrong or that she had made a mistake. He knew better, however. The woman’s expression was enough to tell him that. After that, it was anger. Pure rage at… at… well he didn’t know what exactly. Was it the midwives’ fault for not doing enough? Was it his for not being there enough? His wife’s for not waking up? For leaving him alone? What was it, if anything?

It didn’t make sense.

After everything – being thrown out of his parents’ home twenty-five years ago, the bitter emotions that came with it all, having to make his own way for years through stealing, thieving, conning – The day they met, it felt like he’d finally been given a break. Sure, he’d had a couple quick flings, but those were usually the result of him needing assistance with some of the bigger schemes he planned. Assistance that required a more feminine touch – often in the form of distracting security personnel or hawk-eyed shopkeepers. He’d never actually thought much about settling down, thinking that being so attached to another person would only lead to heartbreak further down the road. There weren’t many people – especially women – who could handle the lifestyle of a travelling thief. At least, that’s what he thought.

Then came the day that he met _her_. He hadn’t been looking for love. Heck, he hadn’t even been looking for a date. But there was something about those eyes… Perhaps it was the way they lit up during her performance, or maybe it was those perfectly timed steps that were always in sync with the music coming from her golden tambourine. Either way, he couldn’t look away.

But now, the only thing that had made him truly, honestly happy in _years_ was _gone._ And, just like everything else that had gone wrong in his life, he’d had no say in the matter, which only fueled his anger at that world. Well, most of it. There was _one_ thing he could never be angry at. Not for this.

Snapping back to reality, Victor glanced down when his daughter shifted slightly against him, his anger slowly melting into fear as he was struck by the sudden realisation that this fragile little baby was now dependent on him – and him alone – for everything. Though he and Valeria talked over and over again about the things that would change once baby arrived – namely the fact that for the first time in twelve years, they would have to find a permanent home and honest work, at least for a year – the one thing they _never_ thought about was either of them ending up alone. In hindsight, he realised that they probably should have. Being on the run with a kid wasn’t going to be easy and them being separated for a time would have been a real possibility, if only to keep their child safe and out of the hands of the authorities in the event that one of them were to be caught. But now…

He glanced down again, wondered as his daughter’s eyes fluttered closed again if he could even do it all alone. After all, he had been an only child. He had no idea how to even look after -- nonetheless raise-- a child, especially not a girl. But, there was a part of him that knew he had to _try_. She deserved at least that.

He named her Carla. Carla Valentina. In part because he liked the way it sounded, and because he decided very quickly that, while he wanted to honor his late wife, he didn’t want his daughter growing up with the feeling that she was a _replacement_ for her mother rather than her own person. With Valeria gone, Carla became his everything.

He hated thinking about how difficult it was at first, especially without his level-headed wife to help him through it. In those early days, he sometimes contemplated whether any of it was worth it and if it would just be better for both of them if he dropped her off on the doorstep of a nice-looking family, or even at the local children’s home. No matter how hard he tried, nothing he did seemed good enough, even with the help of the old woman they’d taken up residence with for most of her first year. He’d put on a good act, agreeing to help the widow look after her property if she would help him with learning how to raise his daughter. She did, but only under the stipulation that she was only there to _assist_ him. She made it clear that he _was_ going to learn how to look after his own child, even though meant having to give up on his “extra work” to look after her at night. However, despite the help, between his concerns about giving his daughter at least the bare minimum of safety and happiness, his fears that he was terrible at being a father, his near-constant tiredness, and his worry that Carla hated him for some reason, he didn't know how he had kept himself together enough to get through it, or even how he had kept from falling into the temptation of giving her away.

Well, that was a lie. He knew why he hadn't done so. He had never found a place where he knew without a doubt that she would be better off than with him. That fear of having her end up some place even worse had encouraged him to keep her and to keep doing the best he could to be the best father he could be under their circumstances. And, beyond that, he knew in his heart that Valeria wouldn’t have wanted that. She had always said that Carla was “their baby” and that she would do and steal anything to keep her safe and happy.

As Carla got older things got easier. At least in some respects. She was a natural actress and a quick learner, easily picking up on both her small educational lessons – they traveled far too much and too often for her to be in a proper nursery programme – and the various tricks he taught her. From learning how to fake a cry to swiping small trinkets off of marketplace tables, she enjoyed helping in her own way and thrived off of the praise he would give her when she completed a task. Most of the time. There were other days when, no matter what he tried or how much he bribed her, she just wouldn’t listen. She was stubborn –incredibly so – with a fierce, feisty attitude that refused to be tamed. The same attitude that had attracted him to her mother.

Then, there were the questions. The girl was too curious for her own good, always wanting to know the why and how of her father’s plans and pouting when she didn’t get the answer she sought. A simple answer was never enough for Carla. She wanted to know all the intricate details of what they were doing, which, while aggravating at times, was nothing more than a mild annoyance until _that_ day. The day when she asked the question he had been dreading since day one.

* * *

Because of their lifestyle, it was rare that Carla spent time with other children, which, admittedly, worried him at times. He didn’t necessarily want her to always be a social outcast. She would have to learn enough skills to be able to blend in when required, but he also knew that he couldn’t risk being too well-known to other people, especially nosy parents.

But there was one day in particular he remembered. She’d been fussing and arguing over every little thing, as if every move he made was _wrong_ in her pretty violet eyes. By the afternoon, Victor decided that he’d had enough of her attitude and promptly carried her over to their current town’s small library during their daily story and play session in the hopes that it would settle her, unaware of the way she watched the other children along the way. Noting how she was the only one who was attached to her _father_. All the other children were dropped off by women she figured – and then confirmed -- were their mothers. When they returned at the end of the hour-long session they were eagerly greeted with various calls of, “Mama! Mommy! Mom!”

She frowned at the sight as she slowly started to realise that something was not wrong, but… different. Was she really the only one _without_ a Mama? And _why_? It wasn’t the first time she had noticed. But all the other times had been different. It wasn’t always mom. She’d seen kids her age with grandmas and grandpas and aunties and daddies as well. This time, though, all she saw were mommies.

“There you are,” A familiar voice said, breaking Carla’s train of thought as she was suddenly swept up from her spot on the playroom floor, giving first a startled squeal and then a laugh in response.

“Papa!” She said, eagerly wrapping her arms around his neck.

“You’re in a better mood,” Victor thought aloud, letting out a sigh of relief as they headed out. She shifted slightly in his arms so she could look over his shoulder and watch as the other children and their mothers filed out and into the town square, her frown returning and staying for the rest of the afternoon, which was unusually quiet and not unnoticed by Victor, who noted how his daughter had moved from one extreme to the other. She went from whining and complaining all day to quietly going down for her nap and then saying nothing at all when she got up, which was highly unusual for her. Carla usually loved to talk and sing and drag him into her various pretend games, but since returning from Storytime, she just wanted to be alone. At least, that’s what he figured, given how she spent the day either colouring or quietly playing with the few stuffed animals and toys she had.

“Carla?” He finally asked that night as he carefully untied her hair, getting only a small noise in response as he gently brushed out the dark locks. “Is something wrong?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead she looked down at and fiddled with first her hands and then the hem of her nightie. She didn’t want to say what she was thinking. While she _was_ curious, she was also scared. What if Papa got mad at her? After all, he never talked about it before. Did that mean it was a bad thing? Was she even allowed to ask?

He sighed, repeated her name as he gently turned the vanity stool around and then knelt down to take her hands. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

She nodded, hesitantly looked up and locked eyes with him, his gentle gaze and touch calming her as the words finally, suddenly came out, “Where’s my mama?”

Victor immediately felt the blood drain from his face. He had been expecting it someday. One day. But not _that_ day. She was only _four_ , for goodness sake.

“Papa?” Carla reached up, set a little hand on his face, tears welling in her eyes when he only sighed and looked away, tried to figure out how to tell her in a way she would understand. He had always _wanted_ to tell her but had never been sure how to approach it given the circumstances. The last thing he ever wanted was for her to think it was her fault.

“I’m sorry, Papa.” She tried, and he turned back to her, gently brushed a tear from her cheek before taking her into his arms and carrying her to their shared bed. Even with rationing their funds, the cost of living in this particular town was too high for him to afford more than a small, one-room space, meaning that, not for the first time, he had to co-sleep with her. She never seemed to mind, but he would have been lying to himself if he didn’t admit to feeling guilty at times for not being able to give her more space.

He silently, gently moved her blanket and favourite stuffed kitten aside and sat in his usual spot, settling her across his lap.

“What are you sorry for, Dear?”

“I made Papa sad.”

He thought to protest but knew better. Carla was very young, but also very smart. He couldn’t lie to her. Not about this. She _deserved_ to know her mother, even if was only through his memories. He sighed, admitted, “It’s true. I’m a little upset. But that’s only because I miss your mama.”

“Where is she?”

“Well…” He started, taking in a breath in an attempt to push back his own emotions, “Your Mama passed away when you were born, but she’s not completely gone. She’s in the Spirit World now. Do you know what that means?”

Carla looked up at him, shook her head.

He brought his hand up, gently ran it over her hair as he explained, “The Spirit World is where people go when they can’t live on Earth anymore. Your Mama got very sick very quickly and her body just… couldn’t keep going. Do you understand?”

Carla thought for a moment, nodded.

“But that doesn’t mean that she isn’t around. Your Mama sees us from the Spirit World. She loves us very much and likes when we think about her. You know how we get flowers and light those big candles in the spring?”

“The purple ones?”

“Yes. The purple ones. Those are for your mother’s birthday. They let her know that, even though she’s gone, we’re still thinking about her and that we love her back,” He explained, pausing as he suddenly realised, “Carla, you’ve never seen your Mama, have you?”

She shook her head and he smiled, carefully urging her off of his lap before making his way to and unlocking a trunk across the room. Carla had questioned it before, but he’d always brushed off the question. He knew it was selfish, but there was a part of him that just couldn’t handle opening it. He always told himself that his daughter was too young. That she wouldn’t understand. But, that had never been fair to her.

After a bit of rifling, he found what he was looking for and stood, soon returning to her side with small black box and smiling at the way Carla curiously leaned over his arm to look into it before shifting her attention to the portrait he handed her.

“Pretty,” She said, gently running her small fingers along the decorated frame.

“And you look _just_ like her,” Victor said as he leaned over and pointed out, “You have the same eyes and the same hair and…” He trailed off as she shifted, setting the portrait aside before climbing down the side of the bed. “…Where are you going?” He asked, watching as she padded over to the trunk, placed her hands on the edge to steady herself as she carefully rose up on her toes and then gasped when she saw and reached for the colourful fabric inside, quickly pulling it up and out despite her father’s protests.

“Papa! Look!” Carla giggled as she twirled around with a dress.

“Carla, be careful,” He ordered, swiftly moving to take the garment out of her hands, running a careful hand over the dark violet fabric as the memories came flooding back to him. He recalled the smile on his wife’s face when he gifted her the outfit. It was right before a big festival. He wasn’t one to participate in such things, but it made her happy, so he did it. For that particular celebration, she had been lamenting about not having gotten anything new to dance in for a long while, so he pulled a few several strings – from returning and claiming various favours to selling off a few of his own valuable objects – and had the outfit finished just in time. It looked beautiful on her, the colour complimenting her eyes as they sparkled when the two of them twirled about the village square with the light from the lanterns twinkling about.

He was then drawn out of his thoughts by a small tug at his pant leg.

“Papa?” Carla asked, staring up at him with the same eyes from his memories. For a moment, he thought he saw his wife reflected in them and had to quickly shake it off before kneeling down to his daughter’s level, setting a gentle on her shoulder as he revealed,

“This was your mother’s favourite dance dress. She _loved_ to dance. In fact, sometimes we would dance together for no reason. Twirling around and around the bedroom and laughing the whole time,” He smiled at the way her eyes widened as she processed his words. He imagined that she was trying to picture it. The way the dress would float around feet adorned with the prettiest open-toed dancing shoes, the happy, unabashed laughter, the careful steps that had always been perfect. People always loved watching Valeria dance. It was her first love and a decent way to make extra money while planning their next big scheme. 

“I want to dance too!” Carla declared suddenly, excitedly, earning a startled took in response as Victor processed request.

He gave her an endearing look as he stood and set the dress down before sweeping his daughter up, twirling her around, relishing in the way she giggled at he brought her down and set her on the bed, declaring as he took her hands, “Well, I guess I’ll have to teach you then!” 

Once she was situated and balanced, he carefully guided her through her first small, easy steps, reveling in the way her eyes lit up as she moved in time with his careful instructions.

* * *

They found time to practice every day after that. No matter where they were or what the weather was, Carla would find a place and reason to dance. Even if it was just to practice a few new steps. She relished in the time they spent, eager to learn each and every new step and sequence. Victor was patient with her, gently guiding her through the steps and never scolding her when she mis-stepped, only correcting and then encouraging her to try again.

Then, there were the times where Carla had to stifle down her laughter at how utterly ridiculous her father looked when demonstrating the woman’s part of the dances, which got increasingly easier as she got older and taller. As she grew, so did her sense of rhythm and coordination. Dancing felt natural and _right_ to her.

She fondly remembered when her father gave her that first festival dress. A red one that he had bought second hand after a lot of negotiation and trading. She knew even at seven years old that he didn’t want to go, but he did. For her. Just as he had done for her mother all those years ago. And, even though it was just a small event local to their current city, he took some of the money they had earned that day to get her hair done, which he was admittedly terrible at, not able to do much other than collect it into a ponytail. If he was feeling creative, he would tie a braid around it, but other than that, everything else he tried was a disaster. She didn’t mind, though. She was grateful that he tried for her, but also equally grateful that he knew his limits and when to leave it to a professional.

There was nothing that could break her spirit as the stylist carefully pinned red flowers into her hair, finishing just as the opening ceremony began. As soon as she secured the last pin, Carla practically bounced out of the salon, ignoring her father as he unsuccessfully tried to call for her, quickly becoming entranced with everything. The people, the costumes, the decorations, the food…It was like something out of her storybooks.

“Carla!” Victor called, setting his hands on her shoulders when he finally caught up to her. “You _know_ better than to run off without permission.” He scolded, noting how he was ignored as she simply took his hand and started off towards the middle of the square.

“Come _on_ , Papa! I want to _dance_ ,” She insisted, giving him the signature smile that always resulted in him -- and pretty much anyone else -- doing _exactly_ what she wanted. He had noticed that, as she grew and began to observe and understand people more, she became more manipulative and had already figured out that her sure face was an advantage that came in handy in more than one of their schemes. But today wasn’t about that, it was about letting her have fun and dance to her heart’s content, which she did without hesitation. She was happy to show off her talents and reveled in the attention she received from onlookers who complimented both her and Victor on her skills.

* * *

As the years passed, her talent became an asset. When she turned thirteen, they agreed that she was old enough to start performing for extra income. He supposed he could have goaded her into it earlier, but the protective side of him wanted to wait until she was old enough to hold her own if anything happened, especially with how petite she was. The first few times she went out on her own, things went smoothly, but when she came back one afternoon with her hair in shambles and her dress covered in mud, but still carrying all of the money that she admitted to having wrestled back from a group of teenage boys, he knew he made the right decision. However, despite having to channel her skills for extra money, Carla ever lost sight of why she started dancing in the first place, and never let her father forget it either, often using her mother’s memory as way to get him on his feet when he tried to turn her down. Not that he ever really minded. He loved dancing with her and never regretted sharing that or any part of her mother’s life.

Then came the day when she was standing in the mirror smiling at the reflection of herself in her mother’s purple festival dress while a stylist wove a dark ribbon into her hair. She remembered every detail of that special day just before her sixteenth birthday. The people of that town called it the Festival of Lights. A celebration of love and life that had started fifty years prior after some kind of candle ration. Or was it lamp oil? Carla couldn’t recall the details of the exact story. Didn’t help that she was only half-listening when being educated on it by the man in the shop her father had been “browsing” earlier that week. But she did remember the loud cheering and music from townspeople, the costumes that included everything from simple, flowing dresses to elaborate, theatrical pieces, the colourful decorations, the seemingly endless amount of sweet food… The twinkling festival lights shining off of her favourite necklace as her father lifted and twirled her around that last time, not knowing that, as soon as her feet hit the ground, he wouldn't take her hand again. Not for a long time.

* * *

Shuriki despised music and dancing, and therefore banned both in their small cottage, much to Carla's chagrin. She knew it was simply part of the arrangement, but quickly grew to resent it. Dancing wasn't just some trivial activity, not to her. It was _part_ of her. One of the only ways she ever felt connected to the mother she never got a chance to meet. She soon took to simply dancing alone whenever she had the chance, often late at night when the sorceress and her father were sleeping. She would never say it out loud, but as she moved about the clearing, she thought about wearing her mother's dress again. Imagined how it would twirl around her feet as she followed the steps she knew by heart, letting the moonlight guide her around the various branches and rocks scattered about the ground as she got lost in her fantasy, the real world fading farther and farther away with each step until,

" _Carla_!" Victor called, his voice snapping her out of her trance.

She gave as startled noise as her steps halted, "Papa!" She awkwardly spat out, instinctively pushing as piece of hair out of her face before simply lingering, feeling unusually small under his disapproving gaze. "What brings you out here?" She giggled nervously.

"I could ask you the same question," He replied, crossed his arms.

"Oh, well…I guess I needed…I mean, I was just…" She stuttered and then finally sighed, knowing that she couldn't manipulate her way out of this. Instead, she took in a breath, put on her best smile as she stepped up to her father, offered her hand, "Dance with me, Papa."

"Carla, you know very well that Shuriki…"

She cut him off, "What Shuriki doesn't know won't hurt her."

"But –"

"You know you want to," Carla pressed, giving him a knowing look and forcing down her excitement when he finally took her hand.

"Just _one_ dance," Victor insisted as his daughter eagerly led him across the clearing and got into position.

"Ready?" She asked, taking the first step at his nod.

Even though it had been months, they easily fell back into it, each and every step perfectly in sync as they moved around each other. It was as if they had never stopped. All the arguing they'd been doing over the past few weeks no longer mattered. In fact, nothing mattered except for them, their steps, and an unspoken bond that refused to be broken.

* * *

_If you could trust yourself to see_

_And if you could give yourself some room_

_To run free_

_For a moment, remember when_

_I know that you would come back again._


End file.
